Have you ever sat in the middle of a huge field, just one insignificant little person in the center of rolling greatness, and looked over the dark burgandy trees at the low, gray clouds rolling slowly northward toward you? Have you ever felt the absolute immensity of it all, the power unbridled in a little tiny insect flying in the center of a vastness you cannot even comprehend? Have you ever sat there, in the cold grass, singing to the clouds and to the trees and to the emotions which threaten to overwhelm your tiny self, even though you don't know if those emotions are joy or pain? Joy and pain-- sometimes they're so much alike I can't even tell the difference. But they're both so utterly wonderful and awesome that I can't help but look for them. Does it seem odd that I search for pain? But pain means you're still alive, and it has its own beauty.

You know, I'm only sixteen. It seems weird to think that. In many ways, I'm still a kid. I don't know how many times I've thought, I want to be a kid again, I want to milk it for all it's got, but I realize I'm still a kid, I'm still young and I've still got my freedom and my naiveté. I used to look in the mirror and think, "Holy crap, I don't look so great today." and I still think that, but now there's this other side of me that says, but you're young. When you get old you'll want to be able to see this same thing in the mirror and won't be able to. And you'll look back on pictures of yourself and think, man, you were beautiful, and you never knew it. So now I'm trying to remind myself of time, for the future, and milk the present for all it's got, because the past is gone.

My mind can find no meaning,
No contact heals my soul.
We lie like separate corpses
As the starry night-spheres roll.
The sky is gray and solemn
The ground is cold and black
The air around my face blows warm,
The earth is at my back.